


Laugh with the Sinners

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Church Sex, M/M, Religion Kink, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Aramis says, breathless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laugh with the Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr with the prompt for daddy kink. It isn't exact daddy kink played to the trope, but I've thought about this a lot with how daddy kink could work with portamis (since the kink doesn’t work for one that Porthos would like, all things considered... and I think that given Aramis’ things about children and fatherhood, he wouldn’t want the daddy kink in the traditional sense). But Catholic guilt? Definitely. So... church kink (or whatever it would be called). 
> 
> In my sinful heart, I'm grateful those Ao3 tags already existed. Going to hell with company.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Aramis says, breathless.

Porthos is quiet for a moment, not immediately falling into the gifted authority, and the expression on his face is almost enough for Aramis to backtrack. Backtrack before they can even get started, to withdraw his request and dismiss it. To apologize. To beg his forgiveness heavy on his tongue. 

But before he can think to say it, to say anything, Porthos steps into his space, presses his hands to Aramis’ chest, and pushes him back into the confessional, his breath hot and warm against his neck as he stoops to press up against him. Lips brush against the line of his neck and Aramis stills, fills his lungs in the small space where Porthos begins and Aramis ends, straining to meet him, breathing out around virtue and desire and love. 

“Uh…” Porthos starts, then says with far more authority and confidence than Aramis knows he truly feels, “Speak your sins.”

Not necessarily correct, but he knows that Porthos is not a man of God the way that Aramis is, knows that he was denied the church for many years before he left the Court. He does not blame him for it, does not respond to it beyond something like a deep, needy breath as Porthos drags his teeth over his neck. The hands on his chest drag down, lower, cup his hips. Aramis shivers. 

They’re silent for a long moment, navigating the space and navigating their own breath – but then Porthos steadily works open Aramis’ belt, pulls back to look at him, and then sinks down onto his knees. Aramis shudders even from that, even before Porthos’ lips press to the slope of his belly, the jut of his hip bone. Aramis fumbles, touches at Porthos’ hair, tips his head back for a moment and then closes his eyes, tilts his head, presses his cheek to the grate of the confessional screen. 

“Speak,” Porthos orders him, then drags his mouth against the line of his half-hard cock. Aramis gasps. 

And Aramis does speak. He speaks to Porthos in a gush of breath that rattles up to the rafters above them, soft moans and pleas, the small gasps of words that might be a confession of sins if not for the sinful way that Porthos swallows down around his cock, works him down to the edge. His lips pillow over his cock, tongue dragging over him, along the base, over his balls, lower, lower still – teeth dragging over his inner thighs, hand curled around his cockhead and squeezing. He shudders, whimpers – gasps out. 

_My God, my God. Oh—_

And – _Oh, Father. Father—_

Porthos says nothing as he drags him over the edge, swallows his release, feels Aramis thrust his holy body into Porthos’ waiting hands, his cheek imprinted with the confessional grate, his body taut even after his release. 

Porthos lifts, threads his hand in Aramis’ hair, and says, “Go in peace, my son.”

And Aramis closes his eyes to the touch, shivers at the words, and feels his body hum with that shameful, coiling desire. Breathlessly, he whispers, “Amen.”


End file.
